“Thanks da…”
He slammed the door shut.
Chapter 45
The latest plume of black smoke rising from the yellow bubble didn’t come from a destroyed bridge. This bomb had been delivered by an F-16 defending its home base. Brigadier General Colon had never dreamed about ordering an air strike in his backyard-literary, since he lived on base with his wife and son.
The smoke cleared from the satellite image on his computer, and he saw the result. He leapt from his chair and dashed to the window. Less than 100 feet away, the bubble stood firm. Shifting into a deeper shade of yellow, it completely obscured his vision and the radar signatures of the enemy’s workings inside the lagoon.
The detective must be right. Only an alien force could withstand firepower like that.
None of their small arms fire or artillery had so much as scratched the barrier. The invaders hadn’t waged a counter attack, but the presence of the bubble had inflicted severe damage along the base’s waterline. It had swallowed the loading dock and placed a steep obstacle on south side of its longest runway to block air traffic. An enemy force could assemble along the base’s edge and they’d never see it through the bubble until it assaulted them. Colon wouldn’t let them neuter his base, no matter where in the galaxy they came from.
“Sir, the civilians are in position near the runway. We have three birds ready to fly,” a soldier radioed into Colon’s command post. “We’re running out of parking, sir.”
“Those cars won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Colon said. “Put them on the golf course. I don’t think many people will be teeing off under the circumstances. Commence the evacuation now. The sick and children go first.”
The next call came from someone a little higher up the chain of command: Secretary of Defense Arnold Stronge. Colon had seen him in formal processions, and the occasional morale-boosting visit to base, but he hadn’t dealt directly with him while the heat of battle weighed on his neck. Even the theft of the explosives hadn’t brought his full attention down on him, although it would have if the media had caught on and made it national news. But no one could sweep a 70-mile long extraterrestrial outpost under the rug.
“I’ve seen lots of conflicting reports about what’s going on down there, brigadier general. Perhaps you can clear a few things up for me,” Stronge said. “Is this some advanced terrorist organization? A domestic scientist with funding from a hostile foreign government? I’ve heard other rumors, but frankly, they’re not worthy of discussion.”
Up in Washington, talk of an alien invasion still elicited snickers. It seemed a lot more plausible to someone who had watched eight entire causeways dissolve in the lagoon like antacids.
“Mr. Secretary, I’m absolutely certain that this invading force is neither foreign nor domestic. It’s not of this earth, sir. The nanobiotechnology I described in my report is beyond our capabilities. And this barrier that’s infringed on my base is as well. It withstood an airstrike.”
“So you really did write that? I have a team analyzing your report right now,” Stronge said. Colon couldn’t blame him for his skepticism. “In the meantime, it’s clear this is a hostile force. Did you hit it with the hardest ordinance you’ve got?”
“Negative, sir. We have a MOAB, but it’s too dangerous to use this close to civilians,” said Colon, referring to a massive ordinance nicknamed the Mother of All Bombs.
“Fine. Save it for when the evacuation is complete.” The secretary paused and started grumbling to himself about “motherfucking mars men.” Then he took a long chug of what Colon could only guess was hard liquor and continued. “These so-called aliens haven’t attempted to communicate have they?”
“Not that we can tell, sir. They might have possessed a child. The police are attempting to locate her, but she doesn’t speak.”
“A lot of good that’ll do then. Let’s give them a message: ‘I don’t care whether you’re aliens from another country or another planet. You can’t plop down on American soil and take whatever the hell you want.’ Nail them with bunker busters until that thing cracks. Deploy your forces along the lagoon and pulverize anything that comes out.”
The secretary opted for the old beehive approach-whack it until the angry bees swarm at you and then blast them with pesticide. Colon figured that the beings who built those mini cyborgs and the seemingly impenetrable barrier were smarter than insects, but challenging an order from Stronge would accomplish nothing besides wasting valuable time.
After Colon agreed, Stronge promised him that backup to secure the base would arrive within hours. He disconnected the line, leaving Colon and his men alone against an alien force. His men had been trained well. They had prepared for battle against military, guerilla and terrorist forces in virtually all terrains on earth. But they hadn’t encountered anything like this.
“I wish I had the luxury of waiting on the arrival of a few thousand more troops,” Colon said to himself. He gazed out his window at the solid yellow bubble. “Lord knows what they have waiting for us inside there.”
The pellets smashed through a bullet proof window that Colon had counted on as a shield. He took cover under his desk. The shards of glass fanned out through the control room, and strange projectiles bounced around like ping pong balls. He hadn’t seen what shot them. Colon had only heard his men on the front lines say, “What the fuck is that? Fire!”
The bunker busters had been as ineffective as the other air strike, but they drew the bees out of the hive just as the secretary wanted. Stronge had assumed the soldiers would shoot the possessed animals to bits. Colon heard plenty of shooting outside his window. More of it sounded like the “thrap” of giant blowguns than gunfire.
Colon scampered underneath the window, and poked his head up for a quick view of the situation. Thrap. Thrap. He ducked back down as a figure crashed through his window, and slammed across Colon’s back on its way down. Shrugging off the throbbing bone bruise on his ribs, he slid across the floor, and drew his revolver on his attacker. He saw the blue eyes, and blood-soaked brown hair of one of his sergeants. The soldier slumped against the wall with his leg bent underneath him at a grotesque angle. Turning his gun on the window, Colon aimed into the gunpowder-laden breeze.
“What’s going on out there, soldier?” Colon asked. “No one’s responding to my calls.”
“There aren’t many of us left, sir.” The soldier grunted as he twisted his deadweight leg into what would have been a normal position, if his knee and calf hadn’t been carved in half. “They hit us hard, and fast. Get the civilians out of here. Please, my children…”
Colon grabbed a pack of bandages to wrap the soldier’s wound. By the time he returned, the man had gone cold, and his pulse had stilled. He couldn’t have bled out that quickly. The marks on his head were scraps from the glass. Colon put gloves on, and scoured his wounded leg for the bullet. He pulled out a grape-sized wad of smooth, solid bone. It dripped a syrupy purple liquid-the color of the infected tumors.
“Biological warfare,” Colon said, as he tossed the alien projectile out the window. He removed his purple- stained gloves. Even with a battle raging around him, he hit the bathroom, and washed his hands. When he convinced himself that he didn’t have alien cyborgs swimming in his bloodstream, he got on his radio.
“This is your commanding officer. Everyone fall back to the airfield. Protect the civilians at all costs.”
Secretary Stronge probably would have demanded that he defend the air base first, but Colon didn’t have time to call him and check. He couldn’t bear the responsibility for more civilian deaths, especially after he had invited the people on base, and then picked a fight with their hostile neighbors. He should have told the secretary that his plan would end in disaster. Colon knew he could have done so many things differently. Those were his bombs that had blown up those bridges, and he’d done nothing besides make pointed phone calls, and place a few lackadaisical watchmen on leave while an invading force massed outside his window for weeks.
He couldn’t hold anything back now. If he did, no human would leave his base with a head on their shoulders.
Colon dashed across the parking lot towards a jeep. Jerking his head over his shoulder, he saw who had been firing on the command center. From a distance, it seemed almost human, but the only truly human parts it had were its legs and waist. The mutant had an oversized snake’s head stuffed into a black turtle shell larger than a
